


Homecoming

by ArgetCross



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Children of the Future Past, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgetCross/pseuds/ArgetCross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war may have been won and Haura may have returned to the living, but even peacetime cannot heal all the wounds of a war-torn world.</p><p>Or Morgan returns home and meets himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

Morgan squinted as the stormwinds whistled into his eyes and melted snow soaked into his padded coat. Every time he cursed, the air stole a little more warmth from his lips. Despite it still being an autumn month, the snow had fallen well up to his calves.

He had intended to return to his parents' house as a surprise for his mother's birthday. Exalt Chrom, clearly still full of affection for his old tactician, had given Morgan the month off and Morgan had skipped out the capitol with nary a glance back.

On the Ylissean high roads, the weather had been fair and the autumn breezes had pulled out the ends of Morgan's coat with a 'dramatic flair'. He pocketed leaves as he walked, until his coat bulged full with those curled, golden red mementos. The colors had reminded Morgan of his mother’s hair. He had been in such good spirits that by the time he reached the border, the light snow on the ground gave him no pause. Even Khan Flavia’s advice to take a southern travel route, followed by one of her pitying laughs, had done little to dissuade Morgan from cutting across the frigid heartland of Regna Ferox.

"Some tactician I turned out to be. First rule is to always listen to the locals for battlefield conditions." He muttered to himself as he came upon the mile marker, half obscured by a snowdrift. Only the wind barked back.

Had he not been alone, the chill would have been more tolerable. If he strained his ears, he could almost hear Owain and Cynthia laughing with the wind, declaring their immunity to such pittances of weather. A hero would never meet their end in these snowy wastelands with nary a crowd to mourn their passing. Morgan tried to recall the eulogies they had written each other. But it had been well over four years since Morgan had saw them last. The war, once their all-consuming reality, had acquired glittering, dewey cobwebs.

 

By the time he had trudged all the way to Port Ferox, the last sliver of sunlight had disappeared behind the overcast clouds. The city’s rowhouses laid buried under clean pristine snow, indistinguishable from one another.

Morgan wandered down one street and then another, looking for a marker of sorts or a living soul to ask for directions. But even the port, normally busy, dirty, and full of human activity, had been deserted in the passing storm. All the while, Morgan continued to fumble in his leaves-filled pockets for the address of his parents' house, leaving a trail of Ylisse’s fall scattered in the snow.

The frustration of wandering around Port Ferox in the cold night wore away at his already exhausted body. Morgan turned away from the residential neighborhoods and began to trudge towards the hostels. It would be a surface to sleep on at least, even if it would be crowded with their alcoholic customers huddling to stay warm. Morgan tried not to think too hard of the decidedly uncomfortable night to be when a lone man carrying firewood emerged from the alley.

Morgan did not even stop to consider who would be as crazy as himself to be walking around after dark in the snow and called out excitedly as he flailed over to where the man stood, “Sir, sir, could you give me directions?

"Morgan?"

As the diffused moonlight washed over the man’s face, Morgan’s jaw dropped.

"Papa!"

Before Lon'qu could put down the firewood, Morgan had bounded over, sending snow flying, and embraced his father. Lon'qu caught his son easily, even with a full load of wood under one arm, and swung Morgan around with a deep chuckle.

"We were not expecting you! And in these conditions-?" Lon'qu said, concern coloring his last words, as he set Morgan back onto his feet.

Morgan hurriedly wiped away the tears forming in his eyes and straightened his back under his father's scrutiny. He began to explain excitedly about the surprise for Mother’s birthday until a stern look from his father quietened him. For a moment, Morgan expected to get scolded. Instead, Lon’qu shook his head with an exasperated smile and took Morgan’s bag despite the latter’s protest.

"Let's get you inside before you freeze."

"Yes sir, not freezing sounds fantastic." Morgan chattered as the wind hissed along his sweaty, exposed back.

As they walked in silence, Morgan studied his father’s profile. The curve of Lon’qu’s nose, the narrow, angled chin, and the wrinkles underneath his eyes had not changed, but the underside of Lon’qu’s hair, half hidden by the scarf wrapped up to his ears, had begun to grey. Still, Lon’qu carried himself with the same strength and poise, from his straight back to his lifted chin, that Morgan had saw but a year ago. He moved through the snow with quick, light steps and Morgan added a little bounce to his steps to keep up.   

When they reached the house, Morgan could not tell it apart from any of the other nondescript rowhouses. Anonymity seemed to have been its primary paintjob as the faded brass nameplate bore no name. Yet when he entered, pushing open the door for Lon’qu, he recognized that familiar voice at once.

"What took so long? Marc and Lin Fan are in bed. I was getting worried. Also, quickly, all the cold air is getting in."

As Lon'qu sidled in and set down his two loads, he called back over his shoulder, "I brought more wood for the children and you an extra mouth to feed."

Morgan saw Haura before she saw him. She sat in the stove side armchair, balancing a book and a sheaf of notes on her legs. Her mouth had a little frown of concentration and she tapped her pencil against her thigh. The faded blue nightgown she wore had gone a little threadbare and, even if it looked to be refitted from Lon’qu’s old uniform, it was decidedly civilian. In the glow of the lamplight, she radiated with quiet contentment. At the sight of her, he felt the weariness of the road melt away.

Haura replied idly as she turned another page, "If it's a stray beetle you found in the snow, the answer is no. The kids will get attached to it and then it'll die and you'll be sad-" Morgan swallowed his bubble of laughter as Lon'qu snorted, looking offended. Haura's voice trailed off as she scribbled down another note and flipped the page on her book.

"Put down your work for a second and greet your child." Lon'qu said. Haura looked up, face screwed up in confusion, and then she caught sight of Morgan beaming at her.

"Surprise!"

Lon'qu expertly ducked out of the way as Haura sprung across the room to hug her laughing son. Morgan easily wrapped his mother up in his arms and buried his nose in her hair. His mother smelled like home and her laughter thrummed against his chest. The grip she had on him was strong, as if she would lift him up like old times, and throw him up into the sky to let him fly.

"Let me look at you." she said once they separated. She held him at arm's length as if inspecting a map before and her dry palms smoothed over his forehead. "Oh, you've grown handsome, my son, if a bit thin. How many hearts have you broken? Well, I'll meddle into your romantic life later. But your hair is out of control. It figures, with your father's blood. When did you last get it cut? Doesn't Chrom have an army of beauticians that maintains that royal pain of a blue mane?"

Morgan giggled. "Mother, I’m so busy that the only people proposing to me nowadays is little Princess Lucina and all she wants to do is spar me. I’m going to be an old tactician sage first. You, however, look as youthful as ever!"

"See, if I had actually given birth to you, I'd be flattered. But we've spent about the same amount of time on this earth with your perchance for time travel, so try again, dumpling child." Haura said and pinched his cheek. Morgan gave a little whine.

“Oh, also, Exalt Chrom says you should come visit more and get out of the snow. He keeps calling me by your name by accident.”  

"Oh, boo him. I’ll write him an angry letter as your mom.” Haura said and laughed when Morgan wheezed a little harder. “I speak in jest. But enough about him. Have you eaten yet? Your skin is freezing. Let's get out of the doorway. Lon'qu, can we get some more heat in this place? Or, since I think I have an old Dying Blaze tome laying somewhere around here...” She waggled her fingers and the brief light of the sigils sent the lamplight and fire roaring up a little higher. Morgan chuckled at her attempt to show off but, across the room, Lon’qu scowled.

"Haura, stop. Did you forget what happened when you tried to play tome stackers with Marc earlier? I'm going to check on the children. The wood’s right here."

Haura shot Morgan an eyeroll behind Lon’qu’s back and singsonged her assent. Morgan looked between his parents, sensing a disturbance in the peace, until Lon'qu saw his stare and smiled back, a tired, genuine thing.

"Welcome home." He said and then he ascended the stairs without another word. When Morgan turned back to his mother, she had crouched down to feed the fire more wood.

"Is everything alright?" he asked quietly, so his father would not be able to hear from the second floor.

"You know your father. Brusque as always. He's always so worried about the children and their safety. Even though it's been years, I think we're still adjusting to peacetime." Haura murmured.

Morgan knew there was more to the story. But every time something arose between his father and mother, they never declared it openly in front of him, insisting on remaining paragons of strength for him. Back when he first joined the Shepherds, he had simply thought nothing was ever wrong and that the family he had found was a spot of heaven amid an apocalyptic world. But slowly, in moments when they had noticed him standing there too late or threw each other pointed gazes across war council tables, Morgan knew there was always something lurking underneath.

Just like every time before though, Haura ended with, "But it's none of your concern. We're both happy you're back." and Morgan's ability to argue fizzled out.

 

After several slices of cold potatoes and a fresh set of clothes from his father, Morgan finally got to collapse into a chair and rest his aching feet. His wet travel clothing steamed lightly from where they hung by the fireplace and they threw long shadows over the room. His mother had returned to her books, despite the firelight growing dimmer by the minute, and Lon’qu had returned to sit by her arm, staring into the firelight in quiet meditation. Morgan learned through scattered questions that Haura was investigating something for the Khan, about soft magic and its martial uses, but as to any of the details, his relaxed mind could no better hold onto them than an open hand could hold water. Before long, his eyelids fluttered shut and his breathing evened out to a slumbering whisper.

"Morgan, if you sleep here, Lin Fan and Marc are going to climb all over you as soon as the sun is up." Haura's voice was more breath than sound in his ear and Morgan could only respond with a soft whine of air.

"No reason to wake him." Someone was picking him up, Father, probably. He wanted to protest, that he was nearly as old as his father and perfectly capable of going to bed by himself, but his body remained limp in sleep.

"He's a little big for this. Oh, don't bang his head."

"He is lighter than a sack of potatoes. I don’t think he’s been eating enough. There is little difference between him and Lin Fan." At the sound of his name in another world, Morgan twitched. Haura’s self-satisfied hum and Lon’qu’s low laugh made it very hard for Morgan not to smile and give himself away.

Lon'qu laid Morgan down on a bed and they began to pull blankets over him. He laid perfectly still, ears straining to hear his parents' nighttime secrets.

"Tomorrow. We will introduce him to Lin Fan and Marc tomorrow.” Lon’qu whispered.

“Good night, my sweet child.” Haura kissed his forehead and the two of them left the room. Her voice became faint behind the closed door. Morgan waited a second before tiptoeing out of bed and opening the door a crack to listen.

“What will we say to him?”

“Lin Fan? Or Morgan?” His father’s reply was so quiet that Morgan almost missed it.

“Either.”

“...I do not know. But I would like Lin Fan and Marc to always know him as family. So they will always have someone to turn to.”

“Should something happen to us, that is?”

Lon’qu did not respond. Haura leaned back against the wall, letting Morgan see the edge of Haura’s profile. In the shadowed hall, she looked tired to the point of weariness.

“...Chrom tells me he can't get Lucina to visit regularly and I’ve barely seen any of the children since I’ve returned. Sumia told me it was like they’ve all tried to disappear. I worry about Morgan.” She murmured.

“That is the nature of life. The children had seemed to take comfort in each other’s company during Ylisstol’s rebuilding, when you were… not among us. But that was just the temporary state of business. It is not always enough. If they had to flee to find their own path, it is not our place to interfere. It may seem craven to run, but I understand why they did so. ” Lon’qu replied with a heavy voice.

“It is our place to say something, Lon’qu! We are their fathers and mothers. It is foolishness, to cut themselves away from their family and friends. No one heals in that manner. You did not.” Haura said, bitterness staining her words.

“Enough, Haura.” The pain in Lon’qu’s voice was familiar. Morgan had heard it many, many times in those five years after the war.

“...I’m sorry. I spoke thoughtlessly.”

“You never speak without thought, Haura.” Lon’qu sighed.

They stood in the hallway in silence for several moments.

“It is getting late.” Haura said. She was about to turn away when Lon’qu said, all of a sudden,

“I have been hard on you lately.”

“You’ve always been hard on me, you obstinate man.” Haura let out an amused laugh. “And I, you.”

“No, what I meant was…” Lon’qu paused, at a loss of words. “Morgan came all this way to celebrate your birthday. So you need not worry.”

“...I understand.” Haura said with a sad smile. She seemed almost disappointed, but she reached up to cup Lon’qu’s cheek regardless. He blinked but let her thumb trace his jaw. Morgan averted his eyes at the tender, private gesture.

As Lon’qu leaned forward, unsteady hands going to Haura’s waist, Morgan closed the door quietly and tucked himself back into the sheets. Despite his aching body and the warm sheets, he did not fall asleep for a long time. His thoughts kept drifting back to a time when he laid in a cot with patched tarp over his head, a sword by his bedside, and Owain’s uneven breathing filling the tent.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Inigo & Inigo, of which a translation can be read on fe-according-to-japan's tumblr. I wished for a long time to write Lon'qu and Morgan after Haura's death as well as Lon'qu and Haura's first fumbles into marriage and partnership. Instead, I have leapt to the furthest reaches of the timeline and, like holding a mirror at the end of long tunnel, hope it may cast a little light on the odd family they had crafted out of blood ties and comradeship. This will probably be my last major work for Fire Emblem Awakening, so I'm going to try and make it a good one.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


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